


Two Great Lights

by Honeybee_Bub



Series: Red Dead Reconstruction [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: 19th Century, And they are absolutely smitten, Arthritic Hosea Matthews, Arthritis, Asthma, Asthmatic Hosea Matthews, BDSM, Bipolar Disorder, Bipolar Dutch van der Linde, Bisexual Dutch van der Linde, Bottom Dutch van der Linde, But these men are messes, Canon Jewish Character, Declarations Of Love, Dom Hosea Matthews, Dom/sub, Drunk Sex, Erectile Dysfunction, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Smut, Gay Cowboys, Gay Hosea Matthews, Gentle Sex, Healthy Relationships, High Honor Dutch van der Linde, Homophobic Language, Internalized Homophobia, Jewish Hosea Matthews, LGBTQ Jewish Character(s), Light Angst, Light BDSM, Light Masochism, Love Affirmations, Low Honor Hosea Matthews, M/M, Masochism, Mildly Dubious Consent, Outdoor Sex, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Period-Typical Homophobia, Praise Kink, Pre-Canon, Pre-Van der Linde Gang, Queer History, Rough Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Semi-Public Sex, Sexual Dysfunction, Sub Dutch Van Der Linde, Until they do an Uno Reverse, Young Dutch van der Linde, Young Hosea Matthews, degradation kink, not entirely, only because they're both drunk as hell, this is a mess, top hosea matthews, vandermatthews
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-04
Updated: 2021-02-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29190564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeybee_Bub/pseuds/Honeybee_Bub
Summary: Years before the Van der Linde Gang's formation, Hosea and Dutch complete their first successful heist. They get absolutely wasted.
Relationships: Hosea Matthews & Dutch van der Linde, Hosea Matthews/Dutch van der Linde
Series: Red Dead Reconstruction [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2139843
Comments: 8
Kudos: 23





	Two Great Lights

**Author's Note:**

> I'll be honest, this is one of the more explicit things I have written. I drafted this while high off my ass on cold medicine (for a sinus infection, not recreation lol), then edited it after sobering up a little. It was quite a trip (and not beta read at all).
> 
> The title "Two Great Lights" is brought about by some inspiration from Genesis: 1-17 of the _Tanakh_ , the book of Jewish Holy Scriptures. There will also be some religious and naturistic imagery surrounding that passage from the _Tanakh_ peppered in throughout this fic. It isn't strongly centered around Judaism, but it is still included as Hosea was more in touch with his religion and culture as a younger man — in comparison to the more "Agnostic Jew" he grows into with age.
> 
> This work is gifted to a die-hard Red Dead fan, who is an avid reader of mine: Lucas! I loved working with your request, and I am more than happy to have fulfilled it. Thank you for your support!
> 
> Happy reading, folks. ♥

Dutch felt the settling liquor begin to bubble in his gut as a bout of rumbling laughter rattled through his chest, and he fell forward into Hosea — his oily forehead colliding with the man's boney shoulder. 

"I think it's time we headed-" Hosea hiccuped, "-on our way, Dutch." 

“I will have to agree, on that one,” the young man tending to the bar quipped, eyeing them both with a weary look. 

Hosea nudged Dutch, trying to get the man to move, as the noise of the saloon dulled to a distant buzz. 

“Mmm, _no_ ,” Dutch said, his voice muffled against Hosea’s shirtfront, “one more.” 

Hosea — sensing eyes burn glares into his back — held up a hand to the bartender, “Make that one for the road.” 

Hosea downed Dutch's last shot, followed by his own, feeling it burn as it trickled down his esophagus; and grabbed the bottle of gin elixir the bartender slid him from across the table. He reached around and patted Dutch's chest, "C'mon, you big lug." 

Dutch shook his head into Hosea’s shoulder, nuzzling further into his collarbone as he slid from the center of the stool — nearly landing in a heap before Hosea caught him. 

“Go on,” The bartender shooed them away, his dainty hands waving at them in a panic, “you’ve had _more_ than plenty gentlemen!” 

Hosea gripped him by the shoulders, and shoved him into a standing position. 

It was time to go. 

Dutch stumbled over himself, steel-toed boot scuffing against the bar floor, and slammed into the hardwood with a pained _oomph_. Hosea keeled over, laughter stealing his breath as tears formed in the corners of his eyes. 

“Should get on home to your wives!” The bartender shouted after them — his voice reverberating in Hosea’s ears — making him laugh even harder. 

They struggled to their feet and pushed through the door at the same time — leading to them crashing down _again_ the first few steps into a tangled mess. 

Hosea shoved Dutch off of him, and snickered, _“Wives.”_

Dutch slid off the bottom step and landed on his ass, staring up at Hosea. “He really think we look the type?” 

“Far from it.” Hosea staggered to his feet, offering his hand to Dutch, “Fella was kind enough to cover for us, we’re a mess.” 

Dutch latched onto Hosea’s hand and allowed himself to be pulled to his feet. “Cover for us? We don’t need any coverin’, Hosea.” 

“Like Hell we do.” Hosea tugged the younger man along. “D’you have a clue what we look like right now?” 

“I _really_ don’t care too much about that, _Mister_ Matthews,” Dutch drawled, slinging an arm around Hosea’s shoulder. 

“You should,” Hosea said, lowering his voice. He shifted his weight to support Dutch as they shuffled along. 

"An' what you mean?" Dutch asked, "Why'd he say that?" 

"Who?" Hosea huffed. 

"The bartender," Dutch blew a raspberry and looked at Hosea like he just asked the stupidest question Dutch had ever heard. "Why bother coverin' for us fools?" 

Hosea shrugged, and mumbled _queer_ — a word that Dutch's tongue often got tied up with, failing to come out in the smooth and subtle way it rolled off Hosea's tongue. 

"Hosea!" Dutch choked on a gasp, and gave Hosea a shove, losing his own balance in the process. 

"What?" Hosea laughed, reining Dutch back in close. "I know one when I see one." 

So matter of fact. 

Dutch shook his head at Hosea, a question bouncing around in his head — _what do you think of when you look at me_ — as he hung onto Hosea, loosely. 

Hosea's nerves and shortcoming breaths helped temporarily sober him up, inspiring him to nod sympathetic glances to passerbys that signaled: _poor bastard had too much to drink_ , until they reached the less populated outskirts of Lewistown. 

The moment they were out of earshot of a man riding past them, Dutch turned to Hosea expectantly. 

"What?" Hosea looked right back at him. 

"M'afraid we spent every last penny," Dutch burst out laughing. 

Hosea furrowed his brows and patted at his pockets — only to find nothing and look back up at Dutch, mouth hanging open. What was left of the portion they stole, after dishing out dollar after dollar at a nearby orphanage, had been wasted away on a single night's worth of booze. 

"We sure did, didn't we?" Hosea cackled, nearly bumping noses with Dutch as he, too, was sent into a fit. "All our hard-earned money!" 

" _Hardly_ hard-earned," Dutch hollered, clutching at his stomach. 

Hosea bent at the waist, hands on his knees as he tried to keep himself upright, as his laughing turned breathy the more his lungs tired themselves out. Hosea handed the bottle of gin to Dutch and held a hand against his chest, feeling winded. Dutch took a swig the moment the glass was in his hand and rested his other on Hosea's back. 

"Y'alright, Ol' Girl?" Dutch asked, clumsily leading Hosea off the path to a shed resting at the edge of town. 

"I think you forget-" Hosea wheezed, slumping against the shed's wall, "-I ain't much older than you." 

"Tell that to your lungs," Dutch snorted. 

Dutch reached out to touch him — a fleeting, but comforting brush of his fingers on his forearm — as Hosea took in slow and steady breaths, careful not to set off his aggravated lungs. 

Hosea's chest rose up and down, basking in the cool, humid air of the summer night. 

He hadn't laughed that hard in a while. 

Dutch always managed to send him spiraling — bent over, lungs whistling, and eyes watering as laughter shook his whole body. 

Hosea motioned for Dutch to pass him the bottle. Dutch handed it to him, then leaned back against the shed, eyes staying focused on Hosea. 

Dutch stared at the older man; propped up against the splintered siding with the pale moonlight shining down on him. 

He _glowed_. 

Hosea was illuminated like a star in the vast black of the sky, his pale skin glimmering like a beacon. His light blonde wispy hairs sticking to his skin, intertwining with the thin, beginning strands of silver that wound themselves behind his ears and along the nape of his neck. 

He was a great light — stealthy, but strong — dominating the night. The _stars_. 

Hosea finished the bottle, sputtering as the golden liquid bit him back. His hazel eyes crinkled, a ghost of a smile hovering over his lips. 

Dutch stared, enamoured; Hosea's frame was loose, and slowly relaxing as his body settled from his fit. Dutch watched his chest rise, vowing to himself that he would never see the day Hosea's chest fell. 

He wanted to reach out to him, and let his touch _linger_. To run his fingertips over his soft, smooth skin and cup his face in his hands — run his thumb over his whiskers that barely showed. Dutch wanted Hosea to look at him — stare him down cold, all while knowing the warmth behind those hard and squinty eyes. Knowing the rosy warmth that would rise in the man's cheeks if he were to trace his brow — smooth and light, like the white, fuzzy caterpillars of the Ozarks — and tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear. Knowing the light in the man behind his steely glare, the soft touch behind his fists, and the warm, beating heart behind the walls he hoisted up. 

People loitered close by — close enough to see them if they decided to take an evening stroll — but Dutch wanted to touch him. To touch him and to hold him. 

And not let go. 

Dutch took a step forward, woozy from the whiskey he drank too much of too fast, and light-headed from something else he'd felt before, but had never been able to place a finger on. He moved in close to Hosea, and snuck a kiss on his cheek when Hosea's eyes were fixed on the dead grass below them. 

Hosea shook himself to attention and scorned him, " _Dutch_ van der Linde." 

Hosea's forced scowl lasted a second before his resolve broke, and a warm grin slipped onto his face. 

"You're wasted." Hosea leaned into him, their foreheads pressing into one another, balancing out the drunken tilt between them. 

"As are you, my friend," Dutch said softly, his face hovering just _centimeters_ from Hosea's. 

"Is _that_ what I am to you?" Hosea scoffed, leaning back to get a better glance at Dutch. 

"Mm?" Dutch murmured, his eyebrows furrowing — the only part of his face that wasn't slack from overindulgence and delirium. 

"A friend." Hosea looked him up and down, and Dutch could see a flicker of worry in his deep-seated eyes, along with a flash of frustration. Dutch was tempted to let it simmer just to see what would happen. 

"Don't get yourself all worked up, you've only just calmed down," Dutch snickered. "Hosea, you know what I mean." 

"Oh, do I?" Hosea challenged, having a confident handle on his lungs, and pressed in closer to Dutch. 

"I would _believe_ so, yes." Dutch's face grew red, more aware of his slurred words, feeling self-conscious that Hosea's tongue still spat smooth quips even as the man had continued to drain the barrel from the brim until it ran bone dry. 

"Then, tell me, Dutch-" Hosea straightened himself upright, "-what makes me different from a _dear_ friend of yours?" 

"Which one?" Dutch asked. 

"You've got more than one?" Hosea teased. 

Dutch blushed, beginning to feel like his brain was an egg cracked open over a fire — the edges of it boiling into a white, gummy flap and his middle gone liquid. 

The _things_ that man did to him. 

"Ira?" Hosea asked. 

Dutch shrugged, acting nonchalant to test how much he could get Hosea worked up. 

"Wilhelm?" Hosea pressed. 

Dutch searched his face, but said nothing. 

_". . . Colm?"_ Hosea drawled, grabbing Dutch around the wrist. "Tell me — how am I different from _them_?" 

"Well-" a giggle bubbled up from Dutch at the onslaught of emotion, "-Ira is a little . . . dull." 

"Unfortunate," Hosea mocked a distraught tone, pulling his face into a frown, as he drew Dutch in closer. 

Dutch felt sweat beads form on his nose as Hosea clamped down on his wrist. "Wilhelm plays a better game of cribbage." 

"Can never top it." Hosea nodded, staring deep into Dutch's eyes. 

"And Colm," Dutch said, his breath quickening at the feeling of nails digging against his skin, "-is a sharper shot." 

Dutch winced as he watched Hosea suck in his cheeks, shaking his head at him. 

"Oh, is he, now?" 

"But you have a quicker draw," Dutch said, hurriedly. 

"No, dear," Hosea tugged Dutch close to him, inhaling a sharp breath through his nose, "I have the _quickest_ draw." 

Dutch nodded, feeling his heart pummel furiously inside of his chest. 

“Would a _friend_ do this?” Hosea leaned into him, and licked a stripe up the side of his neck to the tip of his ear. 

Dutch twinged and pulled away, with a mock pout, “That tickles-” 

Without a second beat, Hosea dragged his teeth across his throat and along his jawline, gripping Dutch’s shoulder as he did so. 

“Shit-” Dutch said, caught off guard. 

“How about that?” Hosea sneered, and Dutch stared at him with wide eyes. 

“Hosea-” 

“Would a _friend_ take you?” Hosea ran his hands along Dutch’s chest, cornering him against the side of the shed. "Right here?" 

“I-” Dutch felt his breath quicken. 

“Or do you just open up your legs to anyone who’ll have you?” Hosea hissed, his breath hot against Dutch’s cheek. 

"N-no, I stand corrected." A breathless laugh escaped Dutch and Hosea pinned a hand above Dutch's shoulders. 

"I could have you right here, Dutch-" Hosea whispered. He had a dark glint in his eyes, a luring smile, and hands that could convince Dutch to fall to his knees in prayer if he so desired. 

Dutch could barely think straight. 

"I can strip you down and throw you up against this shack-" Hosea was in his ear, hand on his jaw, "-and run you until you can't even speak." 

"Hosea, I swear to God-" 

"You know he don't listen to men like us." Hosea nipped at his ear. 

"You-" Dutch's voice cracked and he raised a shaking hand through his hair, "you get me so-" 

Dutch stopped himself short, inhaling a wavering breath. 

Hosea took a step back from Dutch, his intensity dissolving as he snickered at the slight tent forming in the younger man's slacks. "Look at you! I've barely laid a hand on you-" 

Dutch cut Hosea off, panicked whisper, "We'll get ourselves _caught!"_

"Oh, _now_ you care about-" Hosea chuckled at him, "We ain't gonna get caught as long as you ain't whorin' yourself out and crying like a bitch." 

"What if I want to-" 

"What if you . . . _what?"_ Hosea arched his eyebrows, pursing his lips against laughter threatening to consume him. 

Dutch pushed a hand into Hosea’s chest and moved him out of his way, taking a few wobbly steps away. With the alcohol swelling in his brain, he began having trouble figuring out what was making him spin — the alcohol or the lust stirring up inside of him. Hosea watched the man pace, confusion slithering into his alcohol-addled mind. 

"Dutch," Hosea said quietly, holding in the urge to reach out to him. 

Dutch shivered at the sweat running down his temple, completely overwhelmed by how much he was feeling. He _already_ felt so much — always teetering between too much and too little — but the bitter, amber liquid coursing through his body just intensified it. There was so much energy bundled up — so much pent up emotion — inside of him he thought he might cry. 

Or yell. 

Or punch. 

_"Dutch."_

He needed to feel something, but they didn't have anywhere to go. 

"Stupid bastard," Dutch huffed, and grabbed Hosea's hand — tugging him along — stumbling, drunken, fools. 

They headed away from the clearing, towards the brush. 

"You got me all hot and bothered," Dutch growled at Hosea, who was hurrying along behind him. 

"Oh, I couldn't tell." 

"Shut up," Dutch groaned. 

"You couldn't get me to even if you _tried_ , dear," Hosea cooed, sweet but daring. 

Hosea's heartbeat lilted and stuttered with each step as he was encased in the cool, green shadows of the forest — catching glimpses of Dutch's raven black hair, still slicked back with pomade, but disheveled from his anxious hands combing through it the more he got himself worked up. The more _Hosea_ got him worked up. 

He was beautiful. 

Everything about him. 

His hoarse and gravelly, but commanding bravado that could be reduced to a weak mewl with a light touch. His lightly tanned skin, glistening with sweat. The bristles of his mustache scratching at Hosea's face — his _lips_ — when he kissed him. The way he slipped out of control with ease, allowing himself to be vulnerable and at Hosea's mercy. The way he would lie down and beg Hosea to kiss him. His big, brown eyes wide with the right amount of fear, frenzy, and faith to fall into the arms of a lunatic. Dutch had to be crazy, trusting a man like _him_. 

It was so much more than what Hosea had been used to. Dutch was kind. Dutch was sweet. 

Dutch was pulling him into the forest, blindly into the night. Dutch was holding his hand. 

The men he used to have run-ins with never were. He would suck them dry — money usually in the equation — let them grab him and push him down. If Hosea's hands lingered one second too long, if he looked them in the eye, if he moaned, if he did _anything_ — he would leave with welts. They would spit on him and say cruel things in his ear. They never laid down with him after he finished them off — they would leave him there, a boot kick to the gut was as good of a goodbye he had ever gotten, as he would lie barren on the ground. 

Not Dutch. 

Dutch _wanted_ him. 

The man wanted Hosea to wreck him — tear him apart and put him back together. 

He kissed him and ran his hands through his hair. He _looked_ at him, open mouthed and flushed, not an ounce of shame. 

Dusk before rainstorms, when his his knees ached, and Hosea couldn't bring himself to move much — Dutch would lie with him, running his hand up the inside of his thigh, taking control when he couldn't. 

Dutch danced with him around crackling campfires and rested his head in his lap. Dutch squeezed his shoulder and cupped his face in his hands. 

He wanted Hosea to feel good. He wanted Hosea to make him feel good. 

He wanted to be pleased. He wanted to please _him_. 

Hosea was dazed with lust as Dutch pulled him further into the forest. 

Dutch was a force — a bright, powerful force that man nor beast could control. He lit up the day, beaming as bright as the sun — soaking every single thing around him in a golden sheath, giving everything a purpose. He was a great light, one that people were drawn to, and would follow without fail. He was unstoppable. 

And Dutch was _his_. 

Dutch lurched to a stop and turned to face Hosea only for Hosea to shove him back, ramming his back into the tree behind him. Dutch grunted, a sound somewhere between pain and pleasure. 

The tree shook behind Dutch, the branches crackling above them — an acorn split from the tree and struck Hosea on the head, who ducked and instinctively threw a blind hand back to swat at nothing, sending Dutch into a fit of laughter. 

At Hosea’s panic, Dutch reached out to him, calming him as he continued to chuckle, “It was a nut, my Lord! Hosea, you’re so God damned dramatic!” 

“Me? Dramatic?” Hosea mocked him, placing a hand against his chest, pretending to be appalled — not at the prospect of being called that, but because it was a shock — “Have you forgotten I was in the theatre?” 

“Theatre!” Dutch snorted, “more like a brothel where you got off on older men undressing you with their eyes!” 

“Fuck off-” Hosea sealed his mouth with a kiss, then pulled back, “-I was a _star!”_

“You were a dirt poor, wreck of a laughing stock.” 

“Comedian,” Hosea insisted. 

“A manipulative bastard performing tricks,” Dutch said, wrinkling his nose at Hosea. 

“An artist,” Hosea said with a flourish of his hand. 

“You were a con-man,” Dutch reminded him, shoving him lightly. 

“A good one, at that.” Hosea grinned. 

“You’re a mess.” 

“As are you, _my friend_ ,” Hosea spat back at him. 

Dutch rolled his eyes and kissed him back, shivers rattling up and down his spine when their teeth bumped into each other. 

"You are so-" Dutch breathed heavily. 

“I’m so-” Hosea muttered, between marking Dutch’s neck in bites, sucking greedily at his skin, _“-what?”_

“I . . . don’t know, Hosea.” Dutch’s head lolled, soft hums warming his throat as Hosea grated his teeth up against him, his skin sore and raw and red. 

“I often have trouble gettin’ you to shut your trap — an’ stop pulling words outta your ass.” Hosea lifted his head back to look at Dutch, still holding him tight as he searched his face. “But you’ve seemed to run out.” 

Dutch’s eyes crinkled at the edges, his face warm and calm. “You’re the only man who's ever left me speechless.” 

“Oh?” Hosea raised his brows, a small lump forming in his throat as his chest tightened. 

Dutch nodded slowly and pulled Hosea into a kiss. He cupped the back of Hosea’s had, relishing in the feeling of his soft, thin hair against his calloused hands. 

“You suck the words right out of my mouth,” Dutch panted, resting his forehead against Hosea’s as he caught his breath. 

“Do I?” Hosea asked, daring. 

Hosea leaned into Dutch, pulling him into a rough kiss, and puckered his lips against Dutch’s, using his cheeks to suck in the man’s tongue and nip at it with his teeth. Dutch pulled away from Hosea and threw his head back, laughing. 

Hosea chuckled, looking away as his ears turned red at the tips. “Didn’t like that?” 

“No, no,” Dutch grasped his hair a little tighter, the grip forcing Hosea to lift his chin and meet Dutch’s eyes, “I loved it.” 

“I ain’t too sure what it was, but I _loved_ it,” Dutch said, looking deep into Hosea's eyes. 

Hosea shivered against Dutch’s body heat, his hands shook with the thumping of his heart. Hosea moved a free hand down, gripping Dutch’s hip and squeezed at his love handles, holding him back against the tree. 

Dutch gasped as the tree bark scraped at his back through the fabric of his shirt. He felt safe, oddly enough, not being able to turn away from the older man — his nimble fingers roughly holding him still, holding him in place — it made his breath come easier. And at the same time, it set him off like a spark on a live wire. 

All he could think was: Hosea, Hosea, _Hosea._

The man lit him on fire. 

The smooth, but airy midwestern drawl, that whistled like an angry engine when he laughed too hard — that threw jabs at every opportunity, blunt and sharp, his voice dripping with sarcasm like warm honey from a freshly harvested comb. His pale blonde, slow-turning silver hair that he always combed back so neatly. The thought of the his hair filling out, every last piece of blonde consumed — waking up next to a silvery head, stray hairs sticking up at all angles in the early morning — made something coil in his stomach. 

He was beautiful. 

Everything about the man. 

His squinting, hazel eyes spilling worlds of words just by casting a glance — the eyes that smiled at Dutch without a single twinge of his mouth. The deep, woody scent of his musk, sparsed clovers mixed with the salt of sweat and _God_ , the tang of metal if things got heavy. If he could, Dutch would breathe him in all the time; he would bask in the smell of his own clothes after huddling close, sicking his nose in the threads of his coat. 

Dutch pulled back from kissing Hosea and patted the arm that held him. 

Hosea loosened his hold and met his eyes as Dutch stumbled to his knees, steadying the Dutch's shoulders as he fumbled with the buttons. 

"Why you got so many God damned buttons?" Dutch huffed. 

“I wanna make sure m’britches don’t fall down,” Hosea mumbled, reaching down to help Dutch only to have his hand swatted away. “If they did, I’d be gettin’ too much attention for you to handle.” 

Dutch finally got them undone without Hosea’s help and slid them down just below his knees, looking up to Hosea. 

Hosea chortled, “You remember you’re completely boozed up right? You really think you can do this with that much alcohol in your system?” 

Dutch wet his lips and ran patterns all over him, and Hosea stuttered, “Because you don’t h-have to.” 

“I want to,” Dutch murmured. "Do you want me to?” 

“I-” Hosea was breathless. “-yes.” 

Dutch started slow — he knew Hosea preferred things that way — barely taking him in, just giving Hosea enough to make him want more, but not enough to satisfy him. 

After a few minutes, Hosea’s legs were trembling and he had to throw out a hand to brace himself against the tree — his breathing slow and labored as Dutch took him in a little deeper with each bob of his head. 

Then, without warning, Dutch took him in deep and clawed at Hosea’s behind — leaving crescent gouges in his skin. 

_“Oh-”_ Hosea groaned deep and needy, completely caught off guard. “Dutch, _oh_.” 

Hosea shuddered, trying to restrain himself from thrusting his hips forward. 

After a few more moments relishing in Hosea’s shaking frame and his low voice moaning his name — _his_ name, Dutch eased off of him, wiping his mouth. 

Dutch struggled to his feet, and Hosea braced his forearm to support him. 

Dutch looked into Hosea’s eyes, pleading the man. 

He knew how to wind Dutch up in knots, then tug the right ones to make him come undone. 

“I want you,” Dutch said simply, his voice cracking. 

“Hold on.” Hosea frantically fiddled around for anything to use. 

“No," Dutch said, his voice quiet. 

“What-” Hosea raised his eyebrows. 

“Hosea, I don’t _care_ if we don’t got much of anything, I just want you.” Dutch's face twisted in frustration. 

"Dutch, dearest, that won't feel too good even if I ease ya into it." Hosea frowned, rubbing Dutch's shoulder sympathetically. "It'll burn-" 

"I want it to!" Dutch burst out. 

Hosea gapped at him, dumbfounded, lips popping open like a witless largemouth bass. 

"I _want_ it to." Dutch gritted his teeth and ran a hand over his face. "Please, Hosea, I need this." 

Hosea was quiet, watching the man's shoulders as they twitched — his eyes pleading him, his mouth drawn into a straight line. 

"I need _you_ , Hosea." 

"You're sure?" Hosea asked wearily, starting to doubt if getting handsy under the influence was one of his better decisions. He didn't want Dutch to push himself too far. Dutch had that same look in his eyes he got on nights where he would pace — back and forth, and back and forth, and _back_ and _forth_ again. 

"It wasn't a _request_ , Mister Matthews," Dutch snarled. "It was a _demand_." 

"Dutch-" 

"Stop bein' pigeon-livered and get on with it." Dutch reached out a hand to shove Hosea — egging him on — but Hosea swatted it down and spun him around, shoving him into the tree; his heart fluttering in his chest like a disoriented bird trapped in a cage. 

"God, _finally_ ," Dutch said with a laugh. "That's more li-" 

"Shut. _Up_ ," Hosea hissed in his ear, his voice grating as a mix of embarrassment and arousal bubbled to the surface. 

Hosea undid Dutch's belt in a quick, smooth movement and tugged his bottoms down. Dutch's frame shivered. 

"You lemme know, okay?" Hosea whispered, his voice softer, and ran a smooth hand along Dutch's side. 

Dutch nodded, quiet and trembling with anticipation. 

Hosea squeezed at Dutch, fondling with him — his fingers playing dangerously close to where Dutch needed them. After a few moments of hesitation, Hosea pushed one in with little wiggle room from the quickly drying spit Dutch settled for — not an ounce of gel, oil, or even pomade. 

Hosea added another and Dutch's breathing quickened, pressing back against Hosea's hand. 

Hosea's breath grew heavy. Even as Dutch rutted back against him, Hosea doubted he was truly prepared to give Dutch what he wanted. He often liked things slow and simple — sweet; he wanted to see Dutch's face contort as he lost control of himself, eyes rolling back into his head as he shook under Hosea. 

But there were some spots Hosea couldn't always satisfy that way. 

Hosea snuck in another finger, pulling a low sound from Dutch. 

Hosea burned deep in his core — shaking with want, with need, with fear, with excitement, with _energy_. He hadn't felt as overwhelmed as he did, the way he felt right then, in a long time. Knowing he had complete control over Dutch, knowing the man trusted him _that much_ made Hosea shiver. 

"Okay?" Hosea asked, strained. 

"Yeah," Dutch heaved. _"Yeah."_

Hosea shifted his weight to ease the ache in his knees, and pressed into Dutch biting into his shoulder to muffle himself. Dutch barely choked back a gasp, hot and tight around Hosea. Dutch grunted, fingers dragging against the bark, pushing himself back against Hosea. 

Hosea bit back a whimper, feeling his face flush as he started thrusting into Dutch steadily. 

Dutch huffed, his body shaking and back muscles twitching. He hiked a leg up, forcing Hosea to sink in deeper. 

"Pull my hair," Dutch rasped. 

Hosea did, his sweaty hands gripping for a fistful of dark curls. 

"Harder," Dutch breathed. 

Hosea pulled tighter, one hands in Dutch's hair, and the other wrapped around Dutch's lower waist, squeezing at his thigh. 

Dutch moaned, again and again, growing more desperate and loud with each one. Hosea panted into Dutch's shoulder, his stomach coiling up tighter with each drive into Dutch. 

"Oh, fuck," Dutch whined, "fuck . . . _me_." 

Dutch howled, the sound bouncing off the trees around them, and Hosea slapped a hand against his mouth. 

"Shit," Hosea grunted, feeling himself lose momentum and weaken as his head spun. He prayed he could hold on a few moments longer. 

With two more hurried pushes into the bundle of nerves flaring inside Dutch, he came. His voice wavered as he moaned open-mouthed into Hosea's palm, his whole body wracked with tremors. His breath hitched as spilled over the front of himself. 

Hosea, feeling guilt seep into his gut, started to ease off of Dutch. 

_What did Dutch even see in him?_

But Dutch protested, "No, don't-" 

Hosea stopped, holding himself as still as he possibly could. "Don't what, Dutch-" 

Dutch winced, feeling tension work its way into Hosea and freeze him up. Dutch shifted himself around, twisting awkwardly to face the older man, his back now against the tree. 

"Sorry," Dutch said, sympathy oozing from, as he looked into Hosea's stony eyes. "Just . . . not yet, I want you to finish." 

"Are you sure?" Hosea ached for the man, taking in how sweaty and worn he was. 

"You were almost there." 

Hosea didn't move. His head throbbed, and he felt stupid — so, _so_ stupid. 

"Hosea," Dutch lowered his voice, running a thumb along his jaw. "You're alright." 

Hosea scoffed, furiously blinking away the burning sensation in his eyes, and tried to look away. Dutch caught him, holding his head still, keeping Hosea at eye-level. 

"Look at me, Hosea," Dutch cooed. 

As stubborn, and hard-edge the man was, there were moments where Hosea slipped off his high horse into a vulnerable state. Confident, but on occasion, overly conscious — self-loathing. And Dutch wouldn't have it. 

Dutch moved a hand down to Hosea's behind and squeezed at it, smooth as fresh Georgia peaches, and sensitive as nose hairs were to dust. Dutch adjusted his hips against Hosea, feeling heat pool back into his gut. Hosea watched Dutch closely, his eyes shining. 

"I wanna feel you inside me," Dutch whispered, feeling accomplished at seeing the tint in Hosea's cheeks. "I wanna feel you fill me up." 

Hosea's mouth parted in surprise and a chortle slipped past his lips, "You're a modern whore, _good God_ , Dutch." 

"You _know_ I am," Dutch rolled his hips, feeling the man twitch inside him. 

Hosea's breath caught when Dutch rutted up against him, his skin hot and sticky. Dutch leaned in to kiss him, slow and steady, running his tongue along his teeth and swirling around in his mouth. Hosea gasped into the kiss, and Dutch felt him all over. 

Dutch grinned, feeling the pressure build up in him as Hosea started to move. 

"There you go, Ol' Girl," Dutch said in a hushed tone, between kisses. "You've got it." 

Hosea made a low sound in his throat, and rest his head against Dutch's. His hands shook as he twirled Dutch's curls in his fingers. 

"You feel so good," Dutch murmured, bucking back against Hosea, "I wanna feel you drip down my sides." 

Hosea's hips jolted, and Dutch dragged his nails along his behind. 

"Oh, H-hell," Hosea stuttered. "Dutch-" 

Dutch purposefully tightened his hips and clenched tight around Hosea, and Hosea opened his mouth in a silent cry, his breath growing more rapid each time he plunged back into Dutch. 

"You're almost there, 'sea." Dutch encouraged, running a hand through the man's hair. "Almost there." 

_"Dutch-"_ Hosea cried out, a wavering pitiful sound, as he came. 

A hot sensation tingled inside of Dutch and waves rushed throughout his body, overstimulated as he let loose a second time. 

They stood there for a few moments, lazily propped up against the base of the tree — Dutch clinging to Hosea, pressed close enough to feel the dampness of his cheeks from the tears that slipped out. Hosea sniffed and wiped his nose with the cuff of his sleeve, breathing slow to evade the fit his lungs threatened to throw. 

Dutch reached out to Hosea and gripped him by the shoulders. "You okay?" 

"Shit," Hosea let out a whistling laugh, "are you?" 

"I'm gonna be walkin' funny for a week," Dutch said, breaking out into a wild grin, "but I'm alive. Well and truly _alive_." 

"Christ," Hosea chuckled. 

Hosea shifted uncomfortably into his britches with a grimace — not looking forward to the hike back from town to their hideout — as Dutch did the same, while maintaining the doughy, ecstatic expression on his face. 

Once reclothed, Hosea leaned into Dutch, his head resting against the younger man's chest. Dutch combed his hands through Hosea's waves, lingering at the shining silver roots. Hosea felt like he had been swept up by the sea, cast out in the open and completely vulnerable. 

They started making their way back through the forest, and Hosea nearly lost his balance. Dutch caught by the waist, cracking up. 

Hosea straightened himself out, shaking his head at himself. "I am so - wasted, Dutch! I am so drunk-" 

Dutch snickered, narrowly avoiding a bump in with a tree. "You ain't that drunk, Hosea." 

"You are too!" Hosea insisted, pointing a finger. "I never had much of a tolerance, you know that." 

"After everything you pulled tonight?" Dutch slapped a hand on his back, "I highly doubt that." 

"I might even throw up on your shoes," Hosea warned. 

And Dutch laughed, cupping Hosea's face. "You're _beautiful-"_

"What!" Hosea bellowed, giving Dutch an incredulous look. "You're insane." 

"You act like that's news." 

"I get surprised every once in a while, I'll give you that." 

"Thank God I still have the element of surprise," Dutch let loose a sigh of relief. "I've been worried I was gettin' predictable." 

"You could never," Hosea swore. 

"Good," Dutch settled, offering an arm to Hosea before they walked out into the clearing. "Shall we?" 

Hosea snorted, swatting Dutch's arm down, and stepped ahead of him. "We _shall_." 

Dutch smiled, following Hosea close behind, adrenaline still rushing through his body, making his face glow and his blood run hot. "Let's get home and clean up." 

"Please," Hosea agreed. 

"We're filthy," Dutch said, limping slightly. 

"It's revolting," Hosea grumbled, wishing he could hop into a spring that very moment. 

_"Absolutely appalling!"_ Dutch said, mocking Hosea. 

"I love you," Hosea said with a laugh, but clamped his mouth shut a second after, growing red in the face. 

Hosea intended on maintaining his stride and pushing it off, but Dutch slowed his and caught him by the hand. Dutch met Hosea's eyes and went quiet. 

Hosea stared into his big brown, doe-like eyes — lit up with life, lit up with light. His face was blotchy and flushed as a smile warmed his eyes. 

Dutch gave Hosea's hand a light squeeze. "And I, you, Hosea." 

Hosea _had_ , indeed, been swept up by the sea: Dutch. 

Dutch was the ocean, an unstoppable force. He lapped slowly away against the sand, taking granules, bringing back more, then receding only to return — raging with lightening, high tides, and swift undercurrents. 

And Dutch was all _his_. 

Hosea's moments like this with Dutch were fleeting. 

He could never guarantee the future, even if Dutch promised it. 

But whenever those moments came — he was genuine. 

It never lasted — but he always meant it. 

And that was enough. 

Dutch leaned into him as they stumbled back to the place they set up camp. 

It was enough for Hosea. 

And the rock, that rested on the beach — there to greet Dutch when he washed up over the sand in ripples — was more than he could ever ask for. 

More than he would ever deserve. 

And that was _enough_ for _them_ — reflecting and bouncing and shining off each other — as they travelled, hand in hand, through the night. 

**Author's Note:**

> Apologies for the posting issues, earlier! I got it all worked out.
> 
> Thank you for reading! ♥


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